Nightingale

four

Callie pulls into the parking lot of my building and we say our goodbyes. She made me promise to call her if I needed anything. I would never call her because then I would become a burden and that's the last thing I want but I reluctantly promised anyway.

I walk up the stairs to my apartment door and unlock it. Throwing my keys in the small ceramic bowl that's shaped like a bird that sits on my entry way table and pushed the door closed with my foot. I exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding. I need to relax or something I still feel a little on edge. The meeting helped but I also have some certain pills I need to deal with.

I walk through the living room that's still a mess from the night Callie and I had. It's odd that just last night I was laughing with my best friend drunk off our asses when it feels like that was months ago.

I pick up the practically empty bottle off the coffee table and the shot glasses and walk them into the kitchen. I set the shot glass in the sink, I'll wash them later. Opening the vodka bottle I dump the little that was left in the sink. It's not enough to keep and I don't really like keeping liquor in the apartment anyway for um reasons. I turn towards my pantry where the recycle bin is and toss the now empty bottle in.

I grab my bra that is laid across the back of the couch and my leggings from last night and head towards my room. I hate having the need to have everything spotless but if my life is a mess I'd like to have one thing that isn't chaotic. I grab a change of clothes because the ones I'm wearing now smell like a nervous breakdown. I head into my bathroom and throw last night's clothes that I picked up into the hamper then strip my clothes.

Pulling back the shower curtain I turn the shower on and wait for it to get warm. I step in and let the hot water cleanse my body before I sit on the shower floor and close my eyes. There's something oddly relaxing about just sitting in the shower and letting the water rain over your body and take over your senses. It's almost like drowning but with a metaphorical death. It makes my thoughts die. It's silent. It's what I look forward to everyday, sometimes taking 3 showers a day just for some peace and fucking quiet. California might be in a drought 90% of them time but my mental health is a little higher on my list.

Sometimes I think about how quiet everything would be when I die. According to my therapist, Sarah, that makes me suicidal but I couldn't disagree more. See when I think about dying I think about how I won't have racing thoughts all the time. I mean in my depressive states yeah I'm probably suicidal but when mania sits in I just want to be blank, to not have a single thought but to just exist in the world. Almost like a bird.

Birds just exist in the world. They are free to go anywhere they please, all with a flap of their wings. No one questions a bird's decisions or is worried when they are going to go off the rails next. I envy birds.

I open my eyes with a groan when I hear a pounding at my front door. Now the silence is gone. I hear another loud pound and I let out a loud groan. When it happens again I finally snap.

"Jesus fuck I'm coming" I shout. I stand up and turn off the shower and take my time drying off just to piss off whoever is pounding at my door at 8 o'clock in the morning like a psychopath.

I grab my oversized black sweater off of the bathroom counter. I hike up my high waisted biker shorts and throw my wet hair in a bun. I fucking hate having wet hair up but I need that fucking pounding to stop so I'll forgive myself for now.

Storming towards the front door, unlock it and pull it open with a huff.

"Can I help you?" I rush out before I see who's at my door. Eric. Fucking Eric.

"Hi to you too, you look like a fucking mess but I'll forgive you since I came by unannounced." Eric looks me up and down with a disgusted look and pushes past the to walk inside. I could really do without his rude remarks today but I brush it off. I should still be pissed off at him for standing me up last weekend. He had something important to take care of which is actually code word for sleeping with his ex. I don't know why I don't just leave him already but that's what love does to you. I love him but he doesn't love me. Either way I still forgive him.

"Eric, could you not be a dick today? I'm kinda having a day." I sigh.

"You're always having a day, maybe you wouldn't be having a day if you took your meds." Ouch, that really hurt.

"I did take my meds asshole." I close the door and go to walk past him and head to the kitchen but he grabs my arm roughly and pulls my back against his chest. He smells like bourbon, so that's why he's even here at all. He's fucking drunk.

"Don't fucking talk back to me it's not my fault you're a coked out crazy bitch!" He screams into my ear.

I feel small, and I'm not crazy. Just because I have bipolar depression doesn't make me fucking crazy. This is why I don't open up because once you do people will use it to hurt you.

"I'm sorry." I whisper. He lets me go and I quickly walk to the kitchen rubbing my arm, I'm sure this is going to bruise with how hard he was holding me.

"Fuck this I'm leaving! Call me when you are done being a disappointment!" I hear him shout from the living room where I left him then my front door slam causing me to jump.

I grip onto the kitchen sink feeling the cold metal on my hot skin and swallow harshly.

"Holding back your emotions isn't a good coping mechanism Parker, sometimes you just have to let them out."  

Sarah's voice runs through my head. I do just as she says and grab the two shot glasses that rest in my sink and chuck them at the brick wall in my kitchen shattering them. My eyes begin to water but I can't breakdown yet. I move to the cabinet next to the sink and grab a big glass bowl and throw it at the same brick wall. It's remains lying with what's left of the shot glasses.

I can't hold back any longer. I fall onto the kitchen floor and pull my knees to my chest and cry. The hardest I've cried in a while. I might be able to drown in my tears. I'm used to his comments and rude remarks but when he's drunk he gets violent. I'm grateful he didn't slap me today. After everything he has done to me I still fucking love him. He's right, I am a disappointment. I pull my wet hair out of the bun it was in and run my hands through it tugging a bit at my roots.

"FUCK!" I scream and push myself up and hurriedly go to my desk, open the drawer, throw my journal onto my bed along with some of the crumbled papers and stare at the 2 pill bottles that rest in there. With hesitation I grab one of the pill bottles then move to the bathroom. I throw the toilet lid open and take the cap off of the bottle.

What the hell am I doing! No I need to do this. I need to do this for my sobriety. 

Flush them.

I take a deep breath and stare into the container. It's been a year and 2 months since I've even seen oxys. 

Come on Parker it's not that hard.

I take out two of the off-white colored pills and rest them in the palm of my hand. It's been a year and 2 months since I've even held them.

Flush them.

I move the familiar pills to my fingertips and move them around a bit while hovering my hand over the toilet.

Flush them! 

-AUTHORS NOTE-

I apologize if this chapter seems rushed, it wasn't I promise but I tried to mimic how Parker says it feels when it's "not quiet" into my writing.

How are we feeling after this chapter?

Any thoughts or feedback? I would just like to hear about you guys thoughts.

kisses :)